


Course Correction

by SouthernContinentSkies



Series: Embassy Training [2]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Clothed Male Naked Male, Coming on Face, Discipline, Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Spanking, Superior/Subordinate relationship, everyone enjoys themselves, minor scolding, pre-Brothers In Arms, previously-negotiated relationship, tactical coffee, the negotiation is implied and offscreen, unorthodox personnel management techniques
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: Duv finds his formerly-irritating high Vor Lieutenant a lot more enjoyable with the right incentives. A sequel to Close Quarters.
Relationships: Duv Galeni/Ivan Vorpatril
Series: Embassy Training [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650493
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Course Correction

**Author's Note:**

> This does not have a high plot-to-smut ratio. It is really just an excuse for semi-recreational spanking, both to cross that square off my Trope Bingo card and because, frankly, this pairing demanded it. You’re welcome.

Duv sat at his comconsole in the Embassy, typing desultorily. It was quiet, both inside and outside his office. This early on a Monday morning, the building was still waking up. The night shift Security men had already been relieved, but at only 0745, most of the civilian employees hadn’t started trickling in yet. Even the military attaches weren’t technically on duty until 0800; Duv was only at his desk this early to finish a report for the arriving _General Vorlaikal_ , which wouldn’t be in local space long enough to transition out of Fleet Standard Time. 

For several minutes, the only sounds were the impact of Duv’s fingers on the console interface, and the creaking of his chair as he shifted position occasionally. He glanced at the clock on his desk: 0801. There was more sound in the building now, but not from the office next door.

Eyes narrowing, he stood, and went to confirm his suspicions. Indeed, the adjacent office was entirely unoccupied - lights off, console locked and hibernating - and clearly had been since Friday afternoon. He checked his watch as he returned to his own office: 0803. 

Lieutenant Vorpatril was late.

Last month, this would have bothered Duv. It wasn’t the three minutes he minded, though of course strict punctuality was practically a religious tenet of the military. Rather, it was the lack of respect for the basic requirements of the job, and the concurrent confidence that no one would bother to discipline Lord Ivan Xav Vorpatril for something so minor. His subordinate’s entitled inattention to detail had been a significant source of low-grade irritation to Duv ever since the lackadaisical Vor lordling had been assigned to the Embassy.

These days, however, Duv had certain avenues of redress - and discipline - previously unavailable to him. Their week together in the dubious lodgings of the Thatcher Hotel during the mandatory evacuation had provided Duv with an unexpected education on a variety of topics, not least of which was the workplace discipline techniques available to the modern Barrayaran officer - in certain situations. Which Vorpatril had been shockingly eager not only to describe, but to demonstrate. Since then, the anticipation of having an excuse to employ such measures had made the little irritations of the office much easier for Duv to bear.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door to Vorpatril’s office opening and then closing, very quietly. Duv glanced at the clock on his desk - 0816. Late indeed. He rose, as quietly as the door, and went to catch his tardy subordinate in the act.

His sneaking was gratifyingly successful. When he cleared his throat in Vorpatril’s doorway, the Lieutenant - still on his feet, and logging into his console with one hand while holding a cup of coffee with the other - jumped and twirled around, wide-eyed.

“Uh, good morning, sir!” he managed. His shirt was only half-tucked, and his hair rather less coiffed than usual. 

Duv raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you, too, Lieutenant,” he said drily. “Did you lose your watch at the bar this weekend? _Sixteen_ minutes late, I see. A notable feat, when you sleep in the same building as your office. Ostensibly.”

Vorpatril gave a small nervous laugh, and then opened his mouth again, no doubt to launch into some practiced and allegedly entertaining story of excuse. 

Duv cut him off. “ _And_ out of uniform,” he continued, dragging his eyes up Vorpatril’s body to note, in order and in addition to the untucked shirt: scuffs on his boots; a small stain on the side of his trousers; a frayed thread at his left cuff; the front nameplate missing from his jacket; and, of all things, crooked collar tabs. “ _Very_ out of uniform, Vorpatril. Oh dear. Did you sleep in it, or just grab it off of someone else’s floor in a hurry this morning?”

“Sir, I -”

“An extra ten, I think, Lieutenant, for this level of… deshabille,” Duv said softly, his eyes reaching Vorpatril’s and holding there. “I hope your performance for the rest of the day improves. It’s not even 0830, and you’re already at twenty-six.”

Vorpatril swallowed. “Coffee, sir?” he said breathily, holding up the paper cup in his hand.

Duv took it, suppressing a smirk. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m afraid it earns you no discount, however.”

He closed the door behind him, not quite fast enough to cut off Vorpatril’s low groan.

* * *

Vorpatril’s performance for the rest of the day was, indeed, impeccable. He even managed to be back on time after his lunch break, a feat which Duv had long since despaired of him managing on a regular basis.

At 1658 precisely, Vorpatril was back in Duv’s office, handing over a report not officially due until Wednesday. Owing to his various cultural explorations of Old Earth, Duv was able to determine that Vorpatril’s expression was similar to that of a purebred retriever who had fetched a particularly impressive stick. 

Though he appreciated the attitude, and the early delivery of the report, Duv was otherwise unmoved. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m sure Sector Three HQ will be grateful for the promptness.” A glance at his desk showed that the clock had ticked over to 1701. Vorpatril’s gaze followed his, and the air in the room thickened noticeably in mutual anticipation. 

“Well,” said Duv, leaning back in his chair and regarding his subordinate with a searching gaze. “I suppose we can observe the end of the shift strictly, just this once. Since you’ve been motivated enough to finish your work in advance.”

Vorpatril said nothing, standing straight at attention and all but holding his breath.

“Go wait for me upstairs, Lieutenant,” Duv said, a tinge of anticipatory satisfaction creeping into his otherwise professional demeanor. “We’ll deal with the rest of your, ah, report, in my quarters.”

Vorpatril’s breathy “Yes, sir,” would perhaps have been more at home in a bedroom already than an allegedly professional office, but at this point Duv wasn’t about to object. He watched his Lieutenant’s retreat through the door with absent-minded aesthetic appreciation.

Duv would have preferred to do this in his office, if only for the fantasy of the ambiance, but there were far too many cameras in the main body of the embassy for anything resembling privacy, or comfort. Technically, Duv could erase those cameras, or simply turn them off, but that would quickly get suspicious. Besides, the sofa in his rooms was far more comfortable than his desk chair. For him, anyway. 

Whistling cheerfully to himself, Duv finished filing Vorpatril’s unexpected report, locked his comconsole, and stood to follow his wayward Lieutenant upstairs.

* * *

As expected, Vorpatril was waiting for him when he arrived, standing at some species of attention in the parlor of Duv’s rooms. He was holding more tension than usual in his shoulders, and his lips were slightly parted.

“Well, Lieutenant,” Duv said, closing the door behind him. “You managed to behave quite well today - once you finally arrived.”

“Thank you sir,” said Vorpatril, moistening his lips.

“But before we get to that,” Duv continued smoothly, “let’s discuss your appalling uniform maintenance.”

Vorpatril had the gall to blink innocently at him. “It goes a lot better when I have the spares in my own closet to work with, sir!”

Duv shot him a look, glancing pointedly at Vorpatril’s missing nameplate and the stain on his trousers. “Based on the evidence in front of me, Lieutenant, I’m not sure I can take that on faith. And I can’t have my own subordinate showing up to work in such disarray. We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Sir, I-”

“Quiet, Vorpatril,” Duv cut him off, almost absently, looking him up and down. He doubted Vorpatril would consider what he had in mind a punishment, exactly, but all Duv’s other ideas would work out to be less fun for himself as well. He certainly wasn’t about to interrupt the proceedings to make Vorpatril get out a clothes press.

“There’s a set of uniform hangars in the closet behind you, Lieutenant,” Duv said finally. “Go and get them, will you?”

Vorpatril, only mildly nonplussed, did as he was told.

“Now,” Duv continued, once he had returned, “I want you to take off that poor excuse for a uniform you’re wearing, _slowly_ , and hang it up properly, so I can make sure you know how.”

Vorpatril nearly smirked in dawning comprehension. “Oh, yes, _sir_ ,” he said, and his hands went immediately to his jacket buttons.

“ _Slowly_ , Vorpatril,” Duv repeated. 

Vorpatril merely turned his incipient smirk into a grin, in response, but he did undo the buttons with an appropriate degree of care.

Duv stalked around him as he continued, offering the occasional commentary - and correction.

“ _Not_ like that, Vorpatril, for god’s sake,” he said, when the Lieutenant made as if to peel his jacket off inside out, without even undoing the cuffs. “That’s how you ended up without a nameplate in the first place, at a guess. Put it back on your shoulders and do it properly, from the sleeves.”

Vorpatril flashed him a look of only moderately abashed chagrin, but as always, he followed Duv’s instructions.

By the time the rest of Vorpatril’s clothing had been transferred to the hangars along with the jacket, Duv was half-hard. His Lieutenant was one of the few people who looked just as good out of his well-tailored uniform as in it, and Duv always appreciated the view. Broad shoulders, smooth stomach, with a smattering of hair leading down to a pelvic notch Duv wanted to bury his tongue in - delicious. Vorpatril himself was taking a not-inconsiderable interest in the proceedings as well, Duv noticed. Good; the most effective behavior modification techniques were always based on incentives, in addition to deterrents.

“Good,” Duv said aloud, retreating to the sofa and taking a seat. “Do it like that next time, and we won’t have to repeat this - especially not to the tune of twenty-six. Now, come here.”

Vorpatril’s breathing hitched a bit as he approached the sofa and draped himself over Duv’s lap. Duv took the opportunity to run his hands over Vorpatril’s body, correcting his posture here and there until he was just how Duv liked him: on knees and elbows, low enough to present the proper angle, but high enough to brace himself against Duv’s hand without rubbing his cock uncomfortably against Duv’s trousers. Or staining them; Duv knew from experience that Vorpatril’s cock, half-interested already, would come to full attention at some point, though that might not last the full twenty-six.

“Count for me, Lieutenant,” Duv said, “and don’t lose track.” And he brought his hand down on Vorpatril’s lovely ass with a very satisfying _crack_.

Vorpatril gasped, but got his breath back enough to get out, “One, sir,” before Duv could correct him. 

With a heavy hand - no point in stinting on the reason for the occasion, after all - Duv counted out the rest, with Vorpatril counting along behind him in increasingly distracted tones. At the final, breathy, “Twenty-six, sir!” Duv stopped, letting his hand rest on Vorpatril’s ass. It was bright red, and the heat radiating off of it warmed Duv’s hand nicely. Duv indulged himself in a light squeeze, prompting a jerk and a gasp from the Lieutenant in his lap.

Vorpatril himself was sniffling a bit, but Duv wasn’t fooled into sympathy. Vorpatril was still half-hard - he’d peaked around stroke fifteen, before the discomfort had started to predominate - and now that he’d had a moment to collect himself, he was shifting slightly in Duv’s lap, trying surreptitiously to press himself down against Duv’s leg.

“I don’t think so, Vorpatril,” Duv said, interrupting him with a harsher squeeze. “You won’t like it if I have to punish you for getting stains on _my_ uniform. Up you get.”

Wincing a bit, Vorpatril managed to sit back on his heels. His face was flushed. “Didn’t you say something about my good behavior, sir?” he said, as persuasively as he dared.

“In a moment,” Duv replied. “Take care of me, first, and then we’ll see.”

Without needing further instruction, Vorpatril slid off the sofa and arranged himself at Duv’s feet. Duv spread his legs obligingly, and undid his uniform trousers, eyes slipping half shut as he fed his cock into Vorpatril’s eager mouth.

He kept his eyes open enough to watch, however. The sight of Vorpatril’s lips stretched around his cock was always deeply satisfying. Duv sat back and let him work, carding his hands through Vorpatril’s hair, and resisting the temptation to pull at it too harshly. Technically, he ought to make Vorpatril cut it - it was pushing regulation length - but it made such a satisfying handful at this length. He’d call it close enough.

Whatever Vorpatril had lacked in experience when they’d started this, he more than made up for it in enthusiasm. It didn’t take long before Duv was close. He let out a groan as Vorpatril pulled back slowly, working the head of Duv’s cock with his tongue. Duv thought briefly about making him slow down, allowing Duv to stretch things out and enjoy himself for longer - but then Vorpatril looked up at him, meeting Duv’s eyes with his mouth full of Duv’s cock, and Duv was gone. After the initial shock of orgasm, and in a moment of pure indulgence, he pulled out of Vorpatril’s mouth to finish coming on his face. The sight of it made his softening cock twitch futilely.

Vorpatril obligingly stayed where he was while Duv got his breath back, but after a few moments Duv noticed him looking up at him expectantly.

“Yes, alright,” Duv said. “You’ve earned it. Get up here and I’ll take care of you.”

Vorpatril scrambled back onto the couch, hissing a little as his sore ass made contact with the cushions. Duv pressed him down onto his back, arranging his legs over Duv’s shoulders and bending him in half far enough to keep his lower back off the couch. Then, putting a steadying hand on Vorpatril’s hip, he leaned down and sucked Vorpatril’s cock into his mouth.

Vorpatril moaned loudly into the relative silence of the sitting room, his hands scrabbling at the upholstery - _not_ at Duv’s hair; they’d had that discussion already, thank you very much - in an effort to ground himself. His hips flexed against Duv’s hold, but he otherwise held himself still, channeling his restlessness into his grasping fingers.

Duv didn’t have even Vorpatril’s growing repertoire of experience at this, but Vorpatril was younger, and had been working himself up for longer over the course of the day. Another time, Duv thought, he might make Vorpatril beg for it - but not when he was already comfortably post-coital himself, as provoking as it was to look up and see Vorpatril’s head thrown back in pleasure, with just a hint, at this angle, of Duv’s come across his cheekbone. 

Wrapping a hand around the base, Duv sucked hard, and was rewarded with a strangled cry and a spurt of bitterness into his mouth. He swallowed, suppressing a face - it would at least keep the evidence off of the couch - and drew back to look down at Vorpatril, letting his legs fall off of his shoulders as he sat up.

With his flushed face, dazed expression, and the decorative spattering of come across his cheek and the bridge of his nose, Vorpatril looked like a well-used rent boy - or a debauched Vor lordling in over his head. Duv wasn’t sure which comparison he found more attractive. He sat back into the cushions, and the two of them caught their breath in silence.

After a few minutes, when Vorpatril looked mostly recovered, Duv chanced a look at the clock and winced internally. This had taken much longer than usual, and he needed to let them both get some dinner, preferably before the other Embassy denizens started coming back from theirs to notice Vorpatril leaving his rooms. What they were doing wasn’t illegal - or, if Vorpatril was to be believed, even that exceptional - but under the circumstances, Duv didn’t want to push it. Reluctantly, he grabbed a tissue from the side table and passed it to Vorpatril to wipe his face. The fantasy of making him walk back to his quarters wearing Duv’s come would have to stay firmly in Duv’s head.

“Now then, Vorpatril,” he said. “One last thing - show me you know how to put that uniform back _on_.”

Vorpatril groaned, but dragged himself off the sofa anyway.

Duv stayed where he was, and watched. If he were going to take Vorpatril in hand, he might as well make sure to cover all the bases. Perhaps eventually, Vorpatril would be sufficiently well-behaved that Duv could give into the Liuetenant’s unsubtle longing glances and fuck his pretty Vor subordinate over his office desk.

In the meantime, Duv would continue to gleefully count the minutes that Lieutenant Vorpatril was late.


End file.
